My Soul Will Find Yours
by Aramisol
Summary: Sherlock is thrilled when the FBI hires him to catch the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal lets him in. John feels left out. The bodies increase.


The monster slightly pulled the corners of its lips so that people would think it smiled. Its gaunt face was a grinning skull in harsh angles and the wrong light. It wore a person suit with a dapper jacket, a charming blue tie, and hair neatly parted into place. From behind its human veil, a hand reached out of courtesy.

"Introductions are unnecessary, Mister Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes were a fierce green, the firelight illuminating his pale skin, stark against his dark coat and unruly hair. But the slight yet challenging smirk, the unrelenting gaze, betrayed a giddy schoolboy who found the hidden prize under the flowerpot and was keeping it behind his back.

_He knew._

Dr. Lecter had been to London, and knows the taste and tastes of Englishmen, knows the coolness of the climate delays the decomposition of a body more than it would in Maryland. He also knew the British government endorsed this consulting detective to the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation, and care was necessary.

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter," Sherlock took it. Dr. Lecter has hands like John's – firm and resolute, like all people who held life or death, but had none of his affirmation. You were nothing. "We have much to talk about."

"Then we best get started. Please, take a seat." Hannibal poured a glass of wine and set it before his guest. Then he sat comfortably in his couch, leaning forward, fingers forming a steeple.

"Now, how may I be of service?"

"It all depends, Doctor," Sherlock mirrored the Doctor, leaning forward as he did, "If you have given any thought to devouring my internal organs."

There is laughter in hell, and it is indescribable despite any language known to man.

"Unnecessary." It replied affectionately.

"Even though I could put an end to your performance with just one text?" Sherlock sipped red liquid, never taking his eyes off Hannibal.

"Especially so."

"You presume to understand me, Doctor." Moriarty had been ecstatic to find someone like himself.

"Only a more complicated mind can understand a human one, and it happens automatically for psychologists. For example, you and Will are complete opposites. One look is all it takes for him to understand the human heart, but he longs to curl up in a boat and be left out to sea. For you, you see everything else. People spill their very selves into the canvas of their environment around them, leaving a piece of the jigsaw puzzle. And you are a spirited youth, Sherlock, with an unquenchable thirst for novelty."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "People do not interest me."

"Then why would I interest you?"

"Because you aren't one."

It is erroneous to assume Dr. Lecter felt, in anyway, complimented or insulted by this, if his feelings were comparable to human emotions at all. Perhaps amusement is the closest word.

He stood, slowly, taking his time, and Sherlock did not jump.

"May I entice you for a walk, Sherlock? Baltimore is quite pleasant, almost as much as London, I assure you."

"Why would I want to take a walk?"

"Believe me, you would."

Dr. Lecter strode to the door of the waiting room and held it open, a courteous butcher herding cattle into the slaughter house. Sherlock's sprightly step betrayed his delight.

John had been flipping through a magazine in the waiting room. He shot out of his seat, searching his friend for results.

"Hello, John. Just taking a short walk with the Doctor."

His stomach roiled. Once, he managed to save the life of a young man who had lost his leg to a bullet wound. And before his eyes the man shot a small boy, a child who happened to be born in Afghanistan and had a rifle thrust into his hands. At that moment, bullets zipping past his head, he wondered what he was doing. He beat the man down, pinned him underneath, and there on the dusty ground the man he had saved laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Sherlock." What John truly said was, 'Don't.'

"It'll be fine." What Sherlock truly said was, 'I'll be fine.'

"I'm coming." He spoke nonchalantly, a vain attempt to warm the sudden coldness in the room. Both Sherlock and Dr. Lecter noticed how he fitted his coat with the methodical sternness of an army soldier.

"No need, John. I'll be back."

Dr. Lecter gave John a courteous nod. Sherlock did not give him a second glance.


End file.
